


Random Snippets

by risen_icarus



Category: Original Work
Genre: ?? - Freeform, Angels, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Horror, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Other, random writings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 23:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17734889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risen_icarus/pseuds/risen_icarus
Summary: A collection of random things I've written. Not part of any particular fandoms or anything.





	1. Moving On

There's a horrible feeling you get in your chest when someone you love is about to die. It's the same feeling you get when you yourself have had a brush with death, the same feeling when your anxiety is on overdrive at 3am and you can't sleep because what if. It starts out small, barely noticeable, like minor heartburn, but closer to your core. It slowly gets stronger, it's started feeling like heart palpitations now. Then suddenly it's like you've just tripped while walking on a tightrope. It hurts, it makes you want to cry and you don't immediately know why but you figure out someone you love has died. Your heart feels like it has been squeezed, smashed, and yet you can't seem to die but oh god all you want is for the feeling to end even if it means death. 

You spend the next few days pretending it didn't happen. Even if you saw their lifeless form with your own eyes, as I have, you don't seem to register it. But then suddenly it hits you at full force like a building collapsing on top of you, crushing you under it, making you feel like you can't move, can't breathe, can't even think straight. Your lungs don't seem to want to work, your stomach rejects everything you put into it. You lay awake at 1am because you can't sleep. It doesn't matter to you though, nothing seems to, all you can do is think about how you couldn't do anything and they're dead now and you can only think it's your fault. Grief occupies your every second, wrapped around your mind like a ball and chain. You care so much and you can't do anything about it.

You care too much and then suddenly its like you don't care at all. But you do, you still care a lot. But you've built walls around your emotions to keep them at bay. You think your emotions are wolves, fierce animals that are deterred by a simple wall. But they're not, they're hurricanes, they're volcanoes, they're floods. They'll find ways to escape the walls, to leak out, and while they're in there they'll damage you, they'll tear you apart, they won't hold back. If you try and keep them inside they'll kill you. You pretend you don't care, you may even think you don't care, but you do and it's slowly killing you. 

And then suddenly it's not sadness but anger, and the anger is a much more fearsome monster. It will rip down your walls in a split second, wreaking havoc everywhere it can, every chance it gets. It courses through your veins like molten lead, burning and poisonous. You want so badly to control it, but you can't. You want to tell those around you that you're not mad at them, but you can't. Anger takes no prisoners, holds no respect. All you can do is wait for anger to run itself to death.

Then comes depression. You feel cold, and you feel nothing. Even the most minute tasks seem like impossibilities, and all you want to do is curl up in a ball and hide from everything until it all goes away and fades into darkness. You have no interest in anything anymore, you can't even be bothered to take a shower. You consider it a good day if you even manage to put on regular clothes. Some of your family and friends haven't heard from you in days, weeks, maybe even months. But just the thought of typing out a simple message sends a nauseous feeling to your gut. Just like the one you got when they died. Somehow everything seems like it's ending and yet only beginning. You're just so tired. You want it to be over.

When you finally accept it, it's not as freeing as it was romanticized to be. It doesn't feel like the weight was lifted off your shoulders, it doesn't feel like the dawn on a brand new day. It hurts, it hurts worse than everything you've been through up to this point. Because now you've accepted it, accepted the reality of it, you know there's no going back. You've managed to get yourself to start talking to friends again, even if it's 3 short messages over the span of a week. You took a nice, long, warm shower and actually put in the effort to clean yourself. You're getting better.

Maybe you never fully heal. Some days you'll break down out of nowhere because their favorite song came on and their voice wasn't there to accompany it. You'll find yourself talking about them in present tense and you'll have to correct yourself. You can never go back to that one restaurant down the street because it was their favorite place to eat. You can't look at the baby section because oh god they were so young, you can't see them in photos because you're reminded that it's now just a memory. 

Maybe you'll never heal. But you've gotten better, you've made it this far. You can make it just a little bit further.


	2. Decsriptive Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> something I wrote to try and practice describing things in non-traditional ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy

Can you hear it?  
Can you hear the pounding of her blood, the beating of her heart, the panting of her breath as she runs?  
Can you hear the whipping of the branches in the wind, the dry crunch of the dead leaves underfoot, the quiet plastic-metal clink of her jacket zipper bouncing with every step?  
Can you hear the chirping of the bird in the distant treetops, the chatter of the squirrels, the gentle flow of running water in the nearby stream, the almost-inaudible rumble of distant thunder?

Can you smell it?  
Can you smell the damp wood bark, the soggy leaves lying beneath your feet?  
Can you smell the woodsy smell, the smell of plant matter and dew all around you?   
Can you smell the gently wafting smell of a nearby pond, the home to all different kinds of fish and the watering hole for several animals?  
Can you smell the faint smell of rain, the heavy moisture in the air, the scent of a storm building drifting on the wind?

Can you feel it?  
Can you feel the breeze rush past you, the ground beneath you with every step, the occasional stick or small rock under your shoe as you run?  
Can you feel the gentle cool, the slight nip at your exposed skin that tells you fall is coming to a close?  
Can you feel the heavy air, the moisture contained within it that begs to be released, the gentle buzz of static before a rainstorm?

Can you taste it?  
Can you taste the cold wind in your mouth as you breathe, the smell of the forest changing into a subtle taste?  
Can you taste the slightly salty taste of exhaustion that accumulates under your tongue when you run?  
Can you taste the coming rain in the air, not quite fallen but nearing the point where the heavens open up?

Can you see it?  
Can you see the deer standing in the clearing over there, in the dying grass, in the dead leaves, in the woods?  
Can you see the tall, barren trees with few leaves still on their branches, the crows sitting in the treetops watching carefully, the pond up ahead that signifies her safety?  
Can you see the dark grey sky above, all patches of late afternoon light being swallowed by clouds that mean thunder, the smallest specks of blue being overtaken by the quiet grey?  
Can you see the girl running through the trees, her chest heaving, her hair whipping behind her, her grey jacket unzipped, the tassels of her jacket trailing behind her, the pumping of her arms, the urgency plastered on her face?


	3. The Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little backstory for two of my characters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hjgngghgehjejhbdgfdfbhjdhj they're so p u r e im lov them???

Angels age very differently than humans, and this is most noticeable to the angels who have spent any amount of time on earth at all. When an angel is 200 years old, they are as matured as a sixteen-year-old human. Yet when the angel reaches its two-thousandth year of existence, it is only as mature as a twenty-three-year-old. This is perhaps why many view angels as youthful; they mature very slowly. Though, it would not seem like that to a young fledgeling angel, who has only known the safety of their heaven all of their life.

This particular fledgeling, who just so happens to be sitting on a wall near the edge of the gardens overlooking the endless sky above and below, is only 90 years old. With two golden wings on his head, two on his back, and two on his ankles, a blonde-that-borders-on-rose-gold bob, a thin golden crown resting gently atop it, a bluish-gold halo hanging in the air above his head, piercing sea green eyes so full of wonder and amazement, and glowing freckled skin, this fledgeling watches the slow, graceful movement of the clouds, and the racing movement of the angels flying through them. In his hands he clutches a single yellow daisy that seems to match the color of the setting sun. His dress, an off-white color and fastened with a cord at the waist, seems illuminated by the sharp light of the sunset. He sits under an apple tree, one of many in this particular garden’s orchards. The tree has few ripe fruit on it, too early in the season for it to be completely burdened with ripe apples. The shadow of the trees stretch far behind them all, and grow longer with every passing moment. 

The young angel, sensing how late it is getting, turns around on the wall and plants his feet down on the soft grass. Off to his left, he sees the open archway into the library is still dark, but watches as lights slowly flicker on inside. He stretches all of his wings and begins walking towards the archway, but pauses to glance back at the clouds where the angels had been racing each other. With a sense of longing and impatience, he is stricken with exasperation at the fact that his wings are not yet developed enough to fly. Still gazing at the vibrant colors of the clouds at sunset, he begins walking again.

Two shrieks of surprise (and minor pain) ring out as the young angel bumps into another. After lying dazed on the ground for a moment, the angel sits up to glance at who he had just bumped into. He finds himself unable to speak. The angel he had bumped into was older than him, but not by much. She had gorgeous dark chocolate skin, yellow eyes that seemed to match those of the daisy he had been holding, very curly dark hair that seemed to go in all directions, and two bluish-grey wings. Her dress was a pale purple, and she had a white dot on each cheek. She sat up quickly and spun around to look at him. 

“Oh gods, I am so sorry!” she said quickly, in a sweet melodic voice. “I wasn’t paying attention-”

“No, no it’s my fault,” our young angel responded. “I should have been watching where I was going instead of looking at the sunset.” They both stared at each other in silence for what seemed like an eternity, then broke out laughing. They sat there laughing for a while. Finally, the girl broke the silence.

“My name’s Nekmael,” she introduced herself, holding out her hand. The young angel took it, grinning.

“My name’s Tetrafel. Nice to meet you by accidentally hurting you,” he said, laughing. “I am very sorry though.” She laughed and shook her head.

“Don’t worry about it. Where’re you headed off to?” she inquired, standing up and brushing herself off. Tetrafel pushed himself off the ground and dusted the grass off of his back. He motioned with his hands towards the library and noticed Nekmael seemed to jump a bit, though he didn’t know why.

“Back to town for dinner,” he explained, smiling sheepishly. He started walking towards the library, and Nekmael walked next to him, though seemingly keeping her distance.

“Why are you so far away?” he asked, and Nekmael looked confused.

“You’re a seraphim.”

“So?”

“You’re higher ranked than me. I’m not supposed to be friends with you.”

“Aww, why’s that? I’m not going to hurt you. I think you’re really cool, and I want to be friends with you!”

She smiled meekly, then nodded.

“Okay. Friends.”


	4. Failed Savior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tetrafel feels guilty, responsible for their deaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more angst??? in MY writing??? more likely than u think free pc check today

“They said rescue me!” I shouted, feeling my eyes begin to burn. Through a haze of held-back tears, I saw him looking at me, an unreadable expression gracing his holy face. “Rescue me!” My voice quavered, cracking. “They believed I could help them, that I would save the day, and I didn’t.” I paused to steady my breathing. It didn’t help. The lump in my throat seemed all too human. I saw Virael’s face, small and glowing with joy in my mind. It changed to pained and tear-stained, blood streaming down his cheeks and his red curls matted with blood. Still a fledgling, he couldn’t fight against the demon gripping him by the throat. My mind replayed the moment his eyes went dull as his halo was ripped from him. My mind raced to Nekmael, shining and full of glory as her armor sparkled in the sunlight. Then I was holding her in my arms, a hole in her chest and blood all over her. She had smiled at me, the moment before she died. Her dark brown curls seemed to lose their life as she did. 

“They died because I didn’t do anything,” I choked, my voice growing quiet. The look on his face seemed to be one of pity now. I hated it. I hated that I was breaking in front of someone. I dropped my head so that my face, red and pathetic, was hidden. My shaky breaths came slowly as I tried to calm down. My heart hurt with long-repressed grief, which was now cascading down from whatever dark shelf I shut it away on. I missed them deeply, but missing someone won’t bring them back. 

Over the course of the conversation, the sky outside had grown dark. I heard raindrops begin to fall outside the cathedral, the open arches that we called windows letting all the sound through. Off in the distance, there was the sound of young angels playing. I heard footsteps over the sound of the rain and I didn’t look up, knowing that Baradiel was standing right in front of me. 

“Tetrafel,” his gentle voice said, making the façade I had put up begin to crumble. “Tetrafel,” he said again, gently putting his elegant hands on my quivering shoulders. I felt myself breaking completely, and when he pulled me into an embrace it was over. I buried my face against his chest and let out a quiet sob. His hand gently rested on the part of my back where my wings once were, and I winced under his touch. 

“I couldn’t do anything…” I muttered, my voice muffled by his robes, my hands clutching those same robes like a lifeline.

“It’s okay,” he spoke, his gentle, reassuring tone breaking my walls down even further. “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.”


End file.
